Guide Book for Dummies
by Spoilerwolf
Summary: Crack!fic. Dean knows Sam can be a little wooden when it comes to humor, but their current situation is just simply ridiculous.


A/N: So... yeah, this was on my 'to do' list - a special request from Amy (Windspirit79) whom I showed a brief draft of this story, and she wanted it finished. It took a while, but here it is!

A/N #2: Pure crack!fic. I needed something to laugh at, considering S5 thus far. So no need to take this story seriously. Some cursing as well. Same old, same old.

Disclaimer: No, I do not own Sam, Dean, Bobby, or the Impala. Wish I did though, but Kripke won't sell them.

* * *

Okay, so Dean wasn't really sure who should be blamed for the mess they found themselves in.

I mean, really, who would have thought a craftsman dabbling in curses would have been a dangerous thing? Especially a guy who made lawn chairs, tables, and children's toys for a living?

They should have known better. They really should have.

Especially Sam.

He heard a sigh come from the other side of the car and Dean had to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to not smile.

Or you know, pee himself laughing.

"We have to fix this, Dean." Sam's voice came out cracked and gravely, with a slight clicking sound as Sam's teeth snapped together.

"I know Sam." So what if his voice cracked and he bit his lip so hard it bled to stop himself from snickering at the sight of his brother.

Sam, seemingly picking up on Dean's thoughts, or just now responding to it gave a warning, "Dean," while narrowing his eyes at his brother.

Dean glanced at his brother and couldn't help the bark of laughter that erupted from his belly. Oh God, he couldn't not laugh.

Sam was a one and a half foot tall, shaggy haired wooden puppet, whose limbs where colored to match Sam's plaid shirt and blue jeans, and who's eyes could open and close, eyebrows painted on in a neutral expression, while his jaw opened and closed, hinges creaking every time he opened his mouth to talk.

"This isn't funny!" Sam's indignant squeak sent Dean into damn near convulsions of laughter, the car swerving into the other lane while he fought for control.

"Oh don't get your wood shavings in a knot. We'll figure out how to get you back to normal." Dean managed to say before wrapping an arm around now tender muscles.

"You're an ass." Sam muttered angrily, wooden arms and hinges creaking as he crossed his arms across his chest.

* * *

They'd pulled into a motel for the night and Dean had quickly booked them a room, carrying Sam in one arm, and their duffels in the other. Sam's wobbly legs couldn't hold his weight for very long without buckling, so Dean took Sam to suck it up when he complained about being carried.

When he dumped Sam on the bed, he set the laptop next to him, allowing Sam to cruise around on the computer, hopefully letting the little geek find a way out of his little problem.

Sighing, Dean pulled out his phone, hitting speed dial and waiting for the other line to pick up.

Turns out, turning to Bobby for help had the older hunter saying he'd 'call back' in a voice that sounded suspiciously like he was swallowing laughter.

Dean smiled sheepishly at Sam's stony glare. "He needed a moment. He'll phone us back."

Dean had to swallow his own laugh at Sam's bark of cussing before he wobbled over to the bathroom and slammed the door shut.

Bobby didn't have any clue as to how to help Sam with his 'problem' but promised to contact them when he had something.

Dean sighed, shutting his phone shut with a snap. "Guess we'll have to dig a little deeper, huh Sam?"

Sam glared at him from his perch next to the computer, which was kind of hilarious because he had painted on eyebrows that didn't move. "You're just enjoying this too much, aren't you?"

Dean just grinned at the TV as he turned his back on his brother, ignoring the clicks and squeaks as his brother stood up on hinge pinned legs, the bed ever so slightly swaying as he walked over to his brother and whacked him on the back of the head.

* * *

When Dean walked in the next morning with hot pancakes and a tray of drinks he was nearly mowed over when something rammed into his legs. "What the hell Sam?"

Sam kicked his brother in the shins, falling over in the process as his wooden legs buckled. "You ass! Why did you stick an air freshener around my neck!?" Sam held up the offending object in his tiny wooden hands, and Dean _really_ had to refrain from laughing.

He shrugged nonchalantly, stepping around his surly brother. "I wanted to get rid of the pine smell." At Sam's dark look, Dean bit his lip. "It's lavender scented."

Dean felt said freshener bounce off his forehead when he bent down to pick Sam up off the ground.

* * *

It was two days later and neither the boys nor Bobby had any idea of how to turn Sam back to normal, and Sam was, naturally, getting restless and pissed off.

But as it turns out, Sam _did_ have his usefulness as a chunk of badly painted wood.

"Dean, I'm not doing it!" Sam hissed, hoping no one could hear him.

Dean adjusted Sam on his knee, ignoring his protest. "Shut up and follow my lead - hey." Dean's eyes looked up from his seat on the park bench, a young woman in tight black jogging pants, yellow vest and headphones pausing near the bench, pulling the earphones out, looking at him like he was something to eat.

Freaking _jackpot_. Maybe Sam could be of use after all.

"Hey what a cute little doll." The woman bent down in front of him, and Dean couldn't believe his good fortune.

"I'm practicing for this gig in town - ventriloquist." Dean said, all smirks and oozing confidence.

Sam thought it would be a good opportunity to fuck him over.

"Oh really? Wow, that's pretty cool." Her eyes were a milky blue, yet mischievous, biting her lip between her teeth. Oh Dean was gonna score big time.

"Just like you pretty lady." Sam answered, keeping his body as still as he could, Dean's left hand resting against his back.

She chuckled. "You're pretty good. What's your dummy's name?"

Before Dean could reply, Sam answered for him. "Who are you calling a dummy, bitch?"

Dean opened his mouth in shock, the same time the hand slapped across his cheek, a muttered, "asshole," ringing in his ears as the girl huffed and put her earphones back in, jogging away toward the lake.

Dean rubbed his face, glaring at the wooden puppet that was his brother sitting on his knee. "What the hell was _that_ for?"

Sam turned around, and if he had had lips, he would have been smiling. "I will not be subjected to helping you pick up chicks." Sam chuckled. "Besides, seeing you turned down was _awesome._"

Dean glared as his brother jumped down to the ground, a wooden hand waving him in the other direction. "Come on, we need to find a way to get me back to normal, Dean."

Sam grunted, and then started flailing and squawking as Dean grabbed him by the wrist, lifting him off the ground, making his way towards the car. "I've always wanted to do that." He replied cheekily, ignoring Sam's barks of protests to being carried like a piece of luggage. "Come on Pinocchio, we've got work to do."

* * *

Okay, so it was _after_ the incident with the twin five-year old girls who managed to somehow get a hold of Sam while Dean went in for burgers, who were playing tug-o-war with Sam, each girl pulling on either of Sam's arms, when Dean had exited the diner that Dean figured he better find a solution toot sweet.

"I'm sorry, okay? I didn't know they would try and rip your arms off or fight over which one was going to bring you to a tea party."

Sam just stared stonily out the window, the clouds outside reflecting off his sour mood. "This needs to be fixed, Dean. _Now_." His mouth squeaking with each word.

Dean just nodded silently, pushing his foot down a little harder on the gas.

* * *

It took another three days before they could find a counter spell, and one that required they go back to the craftsman's store in order to find another piece of material that had already been used in a previous spell.

The sky had opened up and a downpour had started, causing Dean to tug his collar up a little higher and held Sam a little tighter in his arm as he ran across the blackened street and picked the lock of the old toy store, rain pelting his back as the wind hit sideways. Cursing, he pulled on the knob and stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him.

Placing Sam down on one of the backroom's workbenches, he kneeled down a bit, looking at his brother at eye level. "Will you be okay a moment while I go scrounge up what we need for this spell?"

Sam waved him off. "Go, I'll be fine."

Turns out, even Sam was a magnet for trouble even as a wooden puppet.

Dean had just climbed up from the basement to see Sam hanging by the arm with the burly craftsman's big hand wrapped around his wrist, a lighter held under Sam's twitching wooden foot. "All I wanted was some peace and quiet. Time to work on my craft, and _you two_ had to come in and ruin it all!" The man raged, shaking Sam in his anger, his brother's mouth snapping together with an audible click as his hinges squeaked in protest.

Dean already had his gun out, aimed at the man's head. "Let my brother go, or I'll build you a nice wooden casket for your body to lie in." He hissed, watching as Sam struggled to keep his foot away from the dancing flame. Dean knew Sam still had issues with fire ever since Jessica's death, and even though Sam couldn't do more than blink at him, he could read his brother – Sam was terrified, and that just wasn't acceptable to Dean.

"I think its just desserts what your brother got. You shouldn't have come into my shop and stuck your nose in someone else's business!"

Dean's words were cut off abruptly when the man gasped, bending over in the middle as Sam swung a foot into the man's sternum, rendering him breathless. Dean was pulling his brother to safety the same time he let a fist fly toward the craftsman's face, downing the man with one blow. "What an asshole." Dean murmured, cradling his brother in one arm. "You ready to blow this popsicle stand?" He asked tiredly.

Sam nodded wearily, little body slumping in his brother's arm. "Yeah. Let's just go home."

* * *

Sam awoke in the morning, rolling onto his side and rubbing his eyes. It took him a moment to realize he was no longer a foot and a half tall, and was no longer made of wood. "Oh thank God." He murmured, staring at very human hands in front of his face.

"Just call me Dean." His brother murmured in the bed next to him, one eye open and regarded him tiredly.

"Oh shut it, Geppetto." Sam teased, tossing the blankets off and stretching, letting a yawn escape him as he headed toward the bathroom. Sam opened the bathroom door a few minutes later, frowning at Dean's wide grin as he typed away on the computer. "What are you doing?" He asked, frowning.

"Oh, nothing much. Just sending some e-mails." Dean replied cheekily, smiling at Sam as he clicked on the 'send' button.

Sam scowled at him. "Dean…." He hissed in warning, pushing his brother out of the chair and clicking back on the previous link.

He stared, dumbfounded, at the new screen-saver that greeted him.

"I thought that could be our new mascot." Dean called over his shoulder, and Sam could hear the chuckle that was being barely kept at bay.

Sam stared at himself, two little girls tugging on each arm with his own face reflecting horror on a plainly painted wooden face.

Sam's face flushed red.

"Oh, and I sent that picture of you when you fell in that puddle at the park where you looked a little bloated to Bobby, Ellen and Jefferson. Just so they could see your good side."

Sam ground his teeth together so hard he was surprised they didn't crack. Dean had dropped him in the puddle, and Sam's body had soaked up the water like a sponge, the paint in spots wearing off.

Dean was already running out the door with Sam not far behind him, the younger brother threatening swift retribution and a painful death when he caught up to him.

If Dean thought Sam was mad now, he couldn't _wait_ until Sam found out he'd managed to snap a picture of his brother when he'd fallen in the toilet ass first when trying to reach the cabinet above the toilet, his little wooden foot slipping on the toilet seat and falling in.

He'd sent that picture to Bobby, Ellen and Jefferson too.

* * *

A/N: Hope you had a good chuckle. Drop me a review and let me know what you thought!


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